Sick & Tired of the Phone RRingin'
by Tankspridd
Summary: Bobby gets the weirdest call on one of his "work" phones.   Warning:  Slash inside.  Destiel.  Not graphic.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural. I wish I did. Or at least had a joint-custody agreement and got to spend time with it every other weekend with supervised visitation. Oh well…**

**Oh sweet jeebus. I really meant for this to be less porny and more funny times with Bobby – I really tried. But I just got a little flicker of idea and BAM – this was born:**

**SPN Crack Day 4:**

**Word: **Phone

**Pairing: **Bobby; Dean/Cas

**Rating: **PG-13 [brief language and some sexuality]

**Setting: **Mid Season 4

Bobby Singer stared at the wall of phones before him, each one of them labeled with the name of a different fraudulent government official or law enforcement officer and the corresponding agency or department. He let out a heavy sigh as he tried to figure out which one was ringing.

It turned out to be the line marked "Federal Marshal".

He frowned and picked up the phone, wondering what sort of trouble the Winchester boys could be in as he barked out, "Supervisory Deputy Marshal Raymond Shaw."

There was no immediate answer, so the aging hunter tried again, "This is Supervisory Deputy Marshal Raymond Shaw. Who'm I talking to?"

This time there was a reply – sort of. Heavy breathing and guttural moaning.

Bobby groaned. "What sort of sick joke is this? How did you get my number?"

The moaning and breathy panting was interrupted by a familiar voice groaning, "Dean."

The old man raised an eyebrow and stared at the receiver of the cordless phone for a good ten seconds, not blinking.

_Was that Castiel? _He shook his head._ Why would an Angel of the Lord call his Federal Marshal line looking for Dean?_

But the fact that Bobby Singer did not believe it was the Angel who had raised Dean Winchester from Hell did not stop the voice that sure sounded like Castiel from continuing to moan that name.

The old man was getting mighty angry. It was one thing to use his phones to get out of a tight space on a case – it was another thing for an Angel of the freakin' Lord to use his business lines.

The moans got more fervent and then Bobby swore he heard Dean's voice mumble something that sounded a Hell of a lot like "oh God, Cas".

This was getting out of hand. Not only was this tying up one of his job phone-lines, but damned if he did not feel like a pervert for listening in on what sounded like a very intimate moment between Dean and the very male-vesseled Castiel. Something Bobby would have to take a very long time to really understand.

He hung up the phone and grabbed his cellphone, dialing Dean's number in record time.

_Ringing. Once. Twice. Click. Bingo._

"Bobby?" Dean's voice sounded really gruff.

If Bobby was none the wiser, he would have said the younger hunter had been sleeping.

The man who had been like a surrogate father to both Winchester brothers after their father had died sighed, "Son. Listen to me and listen to me good."

Dean's voice tightened and there was a hint of panic to it. "Bobby? What's wrong?"

The old man shook his head, taking off his ball cap and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. This was definitely not a talk he would have ever pictured himself having with one of John Winchester's sons.

"I don't know what's goin' on with you and that Angel friend of yours, but – please Dean, for the sake of all things right in this world – try not to butt-dial me anymore. It's like a dirty phone-call that I never wanted to hear. Do ya understand me, boy?"

He knew enough about Dean Winchester to know that right about now his face was pale and his ears were bright pink and his eyes were the size of half-dollars. "Um – what?"

Bobby closed his eyes, trying not to lose his patience. He grumbled to himself, "Like talkin' to a brick wall…"

But he reiterated the point more clearly into the phone for the confused young man. "I heard you and your Angel getting' your rocks off and, really, there's just some things in this world a man should never know about another man."

He heard the younger hunter make what sounded like a high-pitched squeak and an even higher "sorry" slipped past his lips.

Bobby laughed and shook his head, "Just remember, take your phone outta your back pocket. I don't need anymore -"

Dean's end of the line clicked and the call ended.

Bobby just rolled his eyes and placed his cellphone back in his shirt pocket. "Idjits."


End file.
